


The Master of Pricks

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: But he learns, Canon Divergence, Cousin Incest, Exhibitionism, Jealousy, Jon Snow Knows Nothing, M/M, Sex ed Greyjoy style, Theon is such a giant prick, Voyeurism, Winterfell, explicit tag for chapters 2 and 3, if Jon doesn't kill Theon first, they still think they're half brothers tho, very tiny hints of future Theon/Robb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-25 14:05:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: Snow is in love.Funny, Theon thinks, especially since Snow askshimhow to go about seducing that love interest.And gracious man that Theon is, he of course agrees to teach the bastard the tricks of the trade - who in his right mind would turn away an eager, pretty virgin, right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dears! 
> 
> Time for a good old PWP again - Porn with a little plot :p
> 
> We're in Winterfell, but none of the bad things happen. Everyone is just happily (more or less) living their lives. 
> 
> Theon is 20, Jon 18.
> 
> Thank you to @Quicksilvermaid for your help^^

All is right with his world tonight, Theon thinks smugly. It’s his twentieth name day and Lord Eddard, ever the gracious warden, is giving a little feast for him. And though it is not like the one Winterfell held for Robb’s eighteenth a couple moons ago, it is pretty adequate for a ward. And more than generous for a hostage.

There’s ale and mead and wine, a whole mutton is slowly rotating on the fire, and there’s laughter and music and games of dice. Of course there are no visits from other lords or anything like that. At Robb’s feast the castle had been overflowing with them and their envoys. 

But he’s still getting presents, from the Starks, some of the men, and a whole lot of little trinkets from hopeful wenches. One of them is sitting in Theon’s lap now, something Lady Stark usually does not tolerate, but tonight she turns a blind eye. 

So all in all Theon has naught to complain about, a pretty girl simpering in his ear, a fat, dripping piece of meat to sink his teeth into, a good swig of Arbour Gold to wash it down, a stack of presents to be opened, and Robb next to him, joking about the immense quantities of mead Jory Cassel is pouring down his throat. 

There’s only one thing to spoil the picture, a nasty little ink blob in all the lively gayness. Theon tries to ignore it as best as he can, but everytime he looks up he finds Snow watching him. He seems to pop up everywhere in Theon’s eyesight, dark brows gathered and shadowing his long, broody face, mouth drawn as if he’d suckled on a lemon. 

Probably jealous, Theon muses as he starts nibbling on the girl’s neck now, drawing delighted giggles from her. The bastard’s name day had come and gone without any fuss. No feast, no music. Theon dimly remembers some presents on Snow’s place at breakfast that day, so it can’t have been that bad. 

Not that Theon had gotten him something, he’ll be damned if he wastes his allowance on the dull, broody Stark bastard. But if he’s not entirely mistaken, there is a gift in his own pile that looks as if it could be coming from Snow, wrapped very negligently. Well, at least there’s no dung smeared all over it, like the one from six years ago. 

Theon blows aside a long, brown strand of hair to get better access to the girl’s ear, his gaze travelling over the Great Hall for a moment - and there’s Snow again, staring at Theon so intensely he can nearly feels his gaze piercing his skin. What on earth can the damn bastard want? Normally he’s more prone to watch Robb the whole time, like a lost puppy, eager for any morsel of affection his half-brother shows him. 

The girl shifts in Theon’s lap and her mouth is wet and red and very close, and Theon forgets about the bastard.

***

“That was nice enough.” Theon pats the white, fleshy backside carelessly, then pulls the layers of skirts down again. “Off you go now, I’m tired.”

The girl pouts and huffs, but Theon deliberately ignores her until she throws up her arms and scampers off, a little bowlegged. Theon chuckles. He’s not that keen on fathering a bastard just yet, and with the serving girls it’s better to take the safe approach. And while he loves a good, sopping wet cunt like any other man, there’s something especially nice about tight little assholes. 

He drags up his breeches, smoothing down his tunic and reaches for the bottle of wine he’s taken with him from the feast, when a dark shape descends upon him from the shadows like a ridiculous, oversized bat, grabbing his arm harshly. Theon whines in surprise.

“What did you do with her,” the bat hisses with Snow’s dark voice, gripping onto Theon’s arm even tighter. “I didn’t see - what did you do?”

“Drowned fuck, Snow,” Theon grumbles, ripping his arm away from the bastard’s hold. “You cannot jump out at a drunk man like that. I think I’ve aged another year!”

“What did you do with that girl,” Snow repeats stubbornly. “I didn’t see.”

“What…” Slowly the strangeness of the situation dawns on Theon. Snow didn’t… see? “Why, Snow,” Theon drawls now, “if you want to defend that wench’s honour you’re too late. I’ve already used her for my perverse cravings.”

“Shut up, Greyjoy,” Snow mutters darkly, and it’s hard to tell in the light of one single torch but Theon thinks Snow might be blushing. “I wanted to  _ see.” _

“Whatever for?” Theon demands, now thoroughly confused. “What is there that you want to see so desperately?”

“How you… how it’s done.”

The bastard’s voice is thick with alcohol, but his gaze is focused unerringly on Theon’s face, demanding an answer. Theon giggles. 

“Don’t tell me you finally want to do the evil deed, Snow. I’ll have you reminded that you could’ve lost your maidenhood a long time ago, and at my expense I might add.”

“I don’t want to fuck any random girl, Greyjoy,” Snow hisses, looking angry and embarrassed at the same time. “I have… there is…”

“Oooooh,” Theon purrs, “Jon Snow is  _ in love _ , aren’t you? And now you want to learn how to fuck your little love interest and have no idea? And thought you’ll learn by watching the best?” Theon can’t help but preen internally, just a little. “Well, you’ve come to the right place, dear bastard. Uncle Theon will take you under his wings and show you how to make that wench scream in lust.”

Snow’s face impossibly darkens some more, he takes a step back into the shadows. Only his eyes are visible in the torch fire now, and Theon stares at him. What the fuck is wrong now?

“It’s not a wench,” Snow finally mutters. 

For a moment Theon feels stunned - then he breaks out into laughter. 

“Drowned fucking God, you Northern brood… Just because your old gods tolerate such things… Snow.” Theon shakes his head condescendingly. “Boys are for when your balls are aching and there’s no girl to fuck. On your precious Wall, maybe. Or on a ship. But you don’t go and fall in love with them.”

“What do you know of love, Greyjoy,” the bastard hisses, immediately on the defense. “The only one you love is yourself!”

How cute. And too true to argue with, so Theon just shrugs. “Do you want to learn it now or not? Decide quickly, my warm bed is calling for me.”

“Now??” Snow’s dark face looks almost comical in his puzzlement. 

“Not  _ now _ now, you little moron.” Theon shakes his head. “Let’s say… yes, tomorrow - today, actually - don’t call too early, bastard. I’m intent on having a lie-in.”

And with that Theon walks away from Snow, sure as all seven hells he’ll never hear of that nonsense ever again. 

***

Unfortunately, he’s very wrong. At first Theon isn’t sure whether it was even a knock that woke him. He blinks into the cold darkness of his room, only penetrated by a single ray of watery sunshine sneaking past the blanket he uses to keep the light out on lie-in days. 

While he’s still trying to figure out what time of the day it might be, the knock comes again, shy and timid, and Theon flumps onto his back, snarling a not very friendly, “Enter.” The door opens and Theon thinks he might still be sleeping when he sees who’s coming through. 

Snow looks as if he’s going to his own execution, brows gathered darkly, mouth pulled into one of his stupid, miserly pouts. But he’s  _ there, _ and Theon suddenly remembers their little chat from the night before. Snow has a lover, or at least hopes to have a lover soon, and Theon agreed to teach him how to do it.

Drowned fucking God. 

“Greyjoy,” Snow mutters reproachfully, as if even Theon’s mere existence were a slight. He closes the door behind him, turning back but not looking at Theon. Instead the bastard avidly stares at the floor. “You said you’d show me.”

“Naught much to show you,” Theon says, then nods over at his water jug. “Hand me that, will you? I don’t feel like getting up. Where the fuck is Romilly with my breakfast?” He leans out of bed, angling for the pot he keeps under the bed, then laughs at Snow’s disgusted face. “I said I don’t feel like getting up! If it offends you that much just turn around.”

Snow does, after handing Theon his jug with a cloth hanging over its edge with an outstretched arm. “See,” Theon says casually over the burbling sound, “it’s not that much ado. You bend them over, see that the hole of your choice is sufficiently wet - in the event of doing a man you need to help that along - and put it in. That’s about it.”

Snow resolutely stays with his back turned to Theon. “I know that! I can do that. I mean, in theory. That’s not what I want from you, Greyjoy.”

“Then what?” Theon asks, giving his prick a loving wipe with the wetted cloth. One needs to take care of the equipment after all. “I’m done, you prudish little thing. Really, Snow, how do you intend to survive at the Wall when you can’t even watch another man piss?”

“Shut up,” the bastard grouses, peering over his shoulder before turning around, obviously not trusting Theon’s word. “The serving girls. They all say you’re good at it. At making them feel… at doing things to them. I want to know how to do that.”

“You want to learn the art of seduction?” Theon smirks, folding his arms behind his neck. “How to make someone feel good? How to make them come so hard that your touch, your cock, are the only things they’ll ever think about again?”

“Shut-- I mean-- Aye.” The bastard’s ears are all red now, Theon notes with amusement, but Snow bravely perseveres. “I want to know how to make him feel better than ever before, I want him to want only me for the rest of his life.”

“Aw,” Theon says, pursing his lips. “Who is it, by the way? This mystery lover of yours?”

“Can’t tell,” Snow pouts. “And he’s not… we’re not lovers yet.”

“But you do know he wants you too?” Theon enquires, his amusement heightening. “Or does this all exist in your wooly head?”

“NO,” Snow protests, blushing some more. “There have been looks. And touches. And… we just know, alright? I…” He sighs. “I can’t explain that right.”

“Aw,” Theon repeats, yawning. This is getting tiring. “What’s in it for me, should I agree to introduce you to the pleasures of the flesh?”

The bastard shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. Seems he hasn’t thought that through. Well, if Theon knows about one thing, it’s how to get an advantage for himself from any situation. He lets his gaze wander over Snow, from the top of his fluffy hair to his heavy boots. Hard to tell if it’s worth the hassle, when he’s wrapped up like that. 

“Clothes off,” Theon says, grinning as Snow starts to resemble an overripe summer apple. “I need to see what we’re working with.”

He fully expects the bastard to terminate the game there and then, what with his prudish manner and ridiculous shyness. But to Theon’s surprise Snow just throws a wary glance at the door - and starts to undo his belt with stiff fingers. Theon watches, baffled, as one item after the other hits the floor until Snow straightens. Naked. 

He must want this very much. 

Theon gathers himself. After a quick glance at the bastard’s face - flushed, morose, chin lifted defiantly - he takes in the young body presented to him. The shoulders already show that they’re going to be wide once he’s a man grown. The chest and stomach are flat and hairless like a boy’s, muscles defined beneath the smooth skin. 

That’s probably the most appealing thing Theon can make out now. Milk-white, unblemished, with more faint redness creeping down the bastard’s chest the longer Theon stares. He lets his gaze wander down from Snow’s navel to a patch of dark hair - Theon’s eyebrows climb up. 

“Hands to the sides, Snow!” he bellows, delighted when the bastard flinches.

“You sound like Ser Rodrik,” he mumbles, making no move to do as commanded. 

Theon giggles. “What, he lets you parade around naked too? Hands down, bastard, or we’re done here and now.”

Reluctantly, Snow’s hands move to the side. Theon feels his mouth twitching. Snow looks near tears. 

“Well…” Theon says at length, drawing out the word. “I do hope that this grows  _ a lot _ or I’ll have my work cut out for me.”

“Shut up!”

Snow’s hands ball to angry fists, he’s upset enough not to cover himself again. Theon sighs in satisfaction. This turns out to be more fun than he’d thought. He feels like a cat playing with a mouse, a real feeling of power - not something he feels often in his warden’s house. 

“What are you waiting for, Snow? Rub yourself. Let’s get the whole truth, hm?”

“Wha--”

That startles Snow out of his anger, his eyes widen and his mouth hangs open, his hands twitch and he’s staring at Theon as if he’d grown a second head just now. 

“Do as I say, bastard. Or shall I help you out?”

A shudder goes through Snow at that, he looks torn, but Theon notices his hands have started creeping towards his groin - when suddenly the door flies open and a chirpy voice calls out a greeting. 

“Good morning, m’lord, I’ve brought your brea- oh… oh dear me.”

Theon smirks at Romilly’s cry. She’s looking back and forth between Theon, naked in his bed, and Snow, who’s standing there equally naked, desperately clutching at his tiny prick now while looking like he might faint any moment. 

“Don’t you worry, petal,” Theon purrs, beckoning Romilly and her tray over. She comes, though hesitantly, unable to stop gaping at the bastard. Theon grins, waiting for her to put the tray down, then grabs her arse through her skirts, making her giggle. “Our dear bastard consulted me on a medical query. You see, he thought he has a wart on his prick.” Theon pauses for effect, then whispers conspiratorially. “I told him not to worry. It  _ is  _ his prick.”

The wench giggles harder, although not without throwing Snow an apologetic glance. Theon continues to fondle her backside, peering over at Snow. He’s not red anymore, rather pale like a ghost, and Theon, gracious man that he is, decides it’s enough for now. 

“Run along now, sweetling. I’ll be down for dinner, so no need for you to show your pretty face here again today.”

She sighs a little, knowing perfectly well she’s not getting it tonight, and Theon is nearly regretting his words when she bends down to pick up his chamber pot and he gets a good look at her ample bosom. Still. There’s other stuff he has to do. 

“I can’t remember telling you to cover yourself again,” Theon addresses Snow who’s still standing there as if frozen, even though Romilly is gone and the door is firmly closed again. His eyes are wet and for a moment Theon feels almost sorry. Almost. “Look, bastard. If we are to do this, there have to be some rules.”

Snow sniffs. “What rules?” he finally asks, voice quiet and thick. 

“You do what I want you to do. This here makes no sense if you question everything I tell you. I will be honest with you, I will do my best to teach you everything you need to know to make that boy whore of yours faint with lust.”

“He’s no boy whore!” Snow shouts, in a heartbeat going from meek to outraged again, letting go of his prick to ball his hands into fists. “Don’t speak of him like that!”

“Alright, alright.” Theon raises his hands, then throws his furs aside, getting up. Snow watches him, brows gathered, gaze suspicious. “Next. You best learn something by doing it. Riding, sword fighting…” He gets up, advancing at Snow, circling him. Nice arse, but for now Theon comes to stand face to face with the bastard. “Fucking is no different.”

Snow flinches, trying his hardest not to look down at Theon’s prick, half-hard now. Theon studies him for a moment, then lets his hand shoot forward, taking a firm grasp of the little bastard prick. Snow gasps and jerks, but Theon doesn’t let go. With quick strokes he massages it, delighted when it starts to plump in his palm. Ah, the joy of a young virgin! 

“Well, this is a lot better.” Theon continues to pull at the warm skin, watching as Snow’s prick fills out, getting thicker, growing quite a bit. “Still not nearly as impressive as other pricks in this room, but it’ll do.”

And just like that he lets go, giving Snow’s hot face a gentle pat. “I’ll see you here tonight after I’ve retired from the Great Hall. I gather I don’t need to tell you what I’ll do with that…” Another quick squeeze, for good measure. “...should you tell a single soul of our arrangement.” 

Snow nods, apparently too embarrassed to speak, and Theon grins. 

“Good. Now fuck off.”

That should be an interesting evening.

***

Curiosity gets the better of Theon, and not too long after a measly dinner - always the same after feasts, leftovers for days - he excuses himself rather soon to Lord and Lady Stark, claiming a headache. Lord Eddard waves him away graciously, but Theon notices Robb looking at him

“Are you alright?” he asks Theon, his handsome face worried. “Do you need the maester?” 

Theon shakes his head and winks. “I thank you, but I think an early night will do me more good than any herbs. I didn’t sleep long enough this morning I think. Had a mouse in my chamber.”

This prompts Robb to grin, and Snow to nearly choke on his ale. With a meaningful glare at the bastard, Theon stalks off, hoping he doesn’t have to wait too long. He’s thought about it all day, how to go about this. It’s the first time he finds himself in the role of a teacher - the Master of Fucking, he’s decided to call it. That or, Theon, Prince of the Iron Islands and the Bedchamber. Both have a nice ring to them. 

It’s almost dark when Snow shows his pinched face, his knock even more timid than in the morning. Theon has a good fire going, and a bottle of his secret stash of wine pinched from the cellars ready. He has a feeling they’ll need it, and Snow’s stiff posture confirms that. At Theon’s invitation he sits down on the outermost edge of the bed, carefully avoiding touching Theon when he accepts the cup he hands him. 

“You do know that this’ll involve a certain amount of touching, right?” Theon asks, sipping at his own cup. “I can’t show you anything when you sit over there like a tree stump.”

“This is strange,” the bastard mutters into the cup, not looking up as Theon sits down on the other end of the bed.

“Aye, of course it is. Do you think I ever thought I’d get down and dirty with the bastard? I’m actually lowering myself to your level. I’m a future lord after all.”

“Can you please stop that?” Snow asks, giving Theon a quick, pleading glance. “Can’t you just call me by my name? This is hard enough without getting bastard thrown around my ears the whole time.”

His hands clutching the cup are trembling, and Theon decides to take pity. “Alright. No bastards as long as we’re in here, Snow. Now…” he leans back against the pillows. “Let’s start this. Come on, show me what you can do.”

Snow takes a deep breath, emptying his cup in one go and turns to face Theon. His face is still dark as can be, and Theon rolls his eyes. 

“First lesson: smile, for fuck’s sake. You look like you want to strangle me rather than make love to me.”

“That’s pretty accurate,” Snow mumbles, and Theon chuckles. That’s a nearly witty reply for such a gloomy, dull thing like Snow. 

He watches, amused and a tad fascinated, as Snow laboriously arranges his face into a more friendly expression, his mouth relaxes, his forehead smoothes, his dark eyes earnest but not glaring anymore. He’s right, Theon thinks, this  _ is _ weird. Snow never looks at him like this, and now he even starts to smile, and it completely throws Theon off track. It looks nice. 

“There, that’s better,” he says, trying to get his footing back. “Now you said you’re sure your who- your lad wants you too?”

“Aye,” Snow says, looking dreamily for a moment. “It’s been there for a while, but now… I think he’s waiting for me to do something. He’s hinted at it so often… I just want to know how.” He glances at Theon, uncertain. “I would rather kiss  _ you _ than fuck up my first time with him.”

“Thank you so very much,” Theon grumbles, miffed at being presented as such an evil. He’s handsome enough, Snow should be happy to even have the opportunity to kiss Theon Greyjoy. “Come now, stop procrastinating. Kiss me as if I were your precious boy.”

Snow snorts, but he does finally come closer, shyly placing a hand on Theon’s thigh and leaning in. Theon waits, having no intention of helping Snow out there. After an altogether too long time Snow finally huffs, surging forward with his eyes screwed shut and pressing his lips on Theon’s for a moment before jolting back again. 

“Drowned shit,” Theon states factually, “that’s it? That’s what you call a kiss? Seriously, b- Snow, even you should know better than that. You’re what, sixteen? Surely one of the girls has managed to steal a  _ kiss  _ from you by now!”

“Eighteen!! And I told you I don’t know how,” Snow pouts, “I haven’t done anything at all ever with anyone!”

“You never even practised with the back of your hand? That’s what I told Robb to do when he was fourteen and that little beast Dorys was after him.”

“Well, no one ever told me, so shut up and bloody show me!!”

Snow is positively flustered now, and Theon  _ has _ promised he would, so he sighs, turning on the charm. 

“First, you woo a wench - or a boy - with your eyes. You do have pretty eyes, Snow. Let them speak.” Theon reaches out and carefully wraps a strand of Snow’s hair around his finger. “This is so soft,” he murmurs, “I like how it feels.”

Snow stares at him, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Theon lets a soft smile form on his face, the one that never fails to make a girl’s knees go weak. He continues to stroke Snow’s hair for a moment before letting his fingers wander over Snow’s hot cheek. 

“What a lovely colour… Don’t be shy, sweetling, let me take care of you.” He tilts his head, letting his lips graze Snow’s jaw, feeling smug when Snow shivers beneath him. “You’re such a pretty boy… I want to know how you taste.”

With that Theon wraps his fingers around Snow’s chin and, predictably, there’s not even a hint of resistance as he gently kisses Snow’s lower lip. At first he only teases, soft and unobtrusive, and when Snow doesn’t move Theon lightly sucks on the plump flesh.

Snow shudders, a tiny noise escaping his throat, his hands creeping to Theon’s chest on their own accord. That’s the right moment for Theon to wrap an arm around Snow and pull him closer, to trace Snow’s lower lip carefully with the tip of his tongue. Snow groans quietly, and Theon moves back a fraction.

“You taste as sweet as I thought. May I take more?”

This is a critical moment. In nine of ten cases the wench is like wax in Theon’s hands now, ready to do whatever comes to his mind just to get more kisses and more compliments. It seems men are no different there, for Snow, eyes closed, lips opened, simply nods. 

“Aye,” he sighs almost inaudible, but for Theon this is enough.

He moves in again, more insistent this time, pressing Snow harder against himself, his mouth claiming him. Snow reacts beautifully, his whole body relaxing against Theon’s, a hand coming up to hold on to Theon’s shoulder, melting as Theon’s tongue dives into his mouth. 

This isn’t even half bad, Theon thinks. He’s kissed wenches who tried to choke him with their tongues immediately, and others whose tongues resembled a dead fish. Snow is shy, careful, it takes a while until Theon feels him react and kiss back. There’s too little of that, but for a first time it’s pretty decent, if slightly boring. At least Snow does taste nice. 

Theon briefly nibbles at Snow’s lip before pulling back entirely, smirking when Snow doesn’t open his eyes immediately. When he finally does, he looks rather dazed. 

“Not bad, Snow,” Theon declares. “This is how you kiss them for the first time, when you’re still trying to get them into bed. Once you got them there, kisses aren’t that much of a necessity anymore. I don’t know about other men, but for my part I find them a little tedious.”

“Tedious,” Snow mumbles, licking his lips. “Aye, I… understand.”

“Sure,” Theon concedes, “when you’re already in bed and in the middle of a wild fuck, a kiss can be good, like spices on top of a good piece of meat.”

Snow nods, staring at Theon with a strange expression. 

“We’ll do this again now, and tomorrow it’ll be your turn to kiss me. Make me want it.”

“You said you don’t like it,” Snow says, sounding reproachful now. “How can I make you want something you don’t like?”

“I don’t like  _ you _ either, Snow - a mutual feeling, I am aware - but that doesn’t mean I’d be averse to having you in my bed.” Theon stretches his arms. “If you’re doing what I did just now, I’ll be at least turned on.”

“You’re… turned on?” Snow looks at him incredulously, so much so that Theon rolls his eyes, taking Snow’s hand and pressing it to his crotch. Snow squeaks. “You’re hard too!”

“Drowned fuck,” Theon sighs. “You’d think no one ever told you about anything, Snow. Now shut up, stop looking so scandalized, and let me kiss you again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 - the mystery is lifted at the ending! No peeking though :p

“Just do it like I told you to! Don’t you ever touch yourself? It’s not that much of a difference for fuck’s sake!”

“It’s a completely different angle! Just stop berating me and fucking show me again!”

“You’ll never learn it if I’m constantly doing it for you! Stop being lazy _and touch my fucking prick!!”_

Snow huffs and grumbles, but finally does as he’s told, clumsily squeezing Theon’s half-hard cock in his sweaty palm. Theon bites back a frustrated groan. How the fuck can that boy be so untalented? There’s got to be a way to make him grasp the concept.

They’re sitting on Theon’s bed atop the furs, both naked, facing each other, and somehow Snow just doesn’t get it. Theon has shown him over and over again, has brought Snow to climax even a couple of times, and yet here Theon is, as far from spilling as ever.

So far Snow has turned out to be a willing student, a fast learner. On their second night he’d been too nervous, but the night after that he’d kissed Theon until he didn’t know his own name anymore. The following couple nights had been dedicated to touches, exploring a body with one’s hands, and after another ridiculous bout of shyness Snow had caught on astonishingly fast.

Theon shudders delicately as he remembers the moment Snow had detected Theon’s most sensitive spot, had started to palm at his nipples with a singlemindedness that had been disturbing, and a little sweet, especially the boy’s smugness when Theon had moaned and writhed under his administrations.

Now he looks rather unhappy, his forehead pulled into a deep frown as he tries to work his hand up and down Theon’s prick. The way he holds his wrist seems uncomfortable, and suddenly Theon has an idea. He smacks Snow’s hand away and, upon his dark, questioning look, pats the space beside him.

“Come over here. We’ll try a different approach.” Theon waits for Snow to settle beside him, and it’s not even uncomfortable having his warm body so near. “Here,” Theon says, taking Snow’s hand and guiding it to his prick again. “Do it like this. As if you’re handling yourself.’

Snow bends over Theon’s lap, wrapping his fingers around his prick, and yes, now that feels different already. Theon relaxes as Snow starts to move his fist up and down, he feels how he’s getting harder, and all of this starts to actually resemble a fun activity again.

The only distraction is Snow’s fluffy cloud of hair, constantly getting into Theon’s face, tickling him and smelling irritatingly of wood smoke and something green. Theon decides to stop blowing it away, that only adds to the distraction, and by now what Snow is doing to him does feel really good, and Theon means to enjoy it.

Snow works his palm over Theon’s cockhead, dragging the skin back as he pumps down again, and Theon can feel his balls drawing up, his stomach tightening. This’ll be over soon now that Snow is doing it right, since Theon - smartly resourceful with his seed - has refrained from fucking at all since the start of their training. He soon groans, letting his head fall back as his prick twitches in Snow’s hand, covering it in thick, white splotches.

“Better, Snow, way better,” Theon mumbles, closing his eyes for a moment to enjoy the little thrills as they wear off.

“I made you spill.”

Snow sounds hilariously pleased with himself, and Theon opens one eye to peer at him in amusement - and sits up so fast he gives himself a headrush. Snow is sitting there, legs crossed, palming himself as he’s _licking Theon’s seed off his fingers_.

“Snow… what…” Theon hears how weak his own voice sounds, but the sight is simply too baffling. “Are you… is that my…”

“Hm? Oh,” Snow shrugs. “It’s not that bad. Little bitter, but bearable. Quite nice, actually.”

The signs of a true pillow biter. Theon rolls his eyes. While he has absolutely no problem with using a pretty boy’s hands, mouth and hole, there’s no way he’ll ever let it happen the other way round. Well, yes, he does toss Snow off after their gatherings. It’s bad for a man’s health to go away from something like this without being able to finish.

But not for all the gold in the world would he ever take another man’s cock in his mouth, nevermind taste his seed. Snow, on the other hand, is a perfect example of the other side of the coin. He obviously enjoys getting Theon off - someone he doesn’t even like - and sometimes Theon thinks whoever the target of Snow’s new skills is, he’s a lucky one.

He’s tried to find out of course, has followed Snow more than one time during the day. There are a few men who could be the one, but it’s hard to tell since there are only fleeting moments when Theon can see Snow interacting with them. He spends most of his days with Robb or Arya, or training by himself. Theon has watched that too, enjoying his newfound appreciation of Snow’s fine young body.

Snow is looking at Theon with that expectant gaze of his, and Theon fights the urge to pet his head and call him a good boy. Maybe feed him a treat. Instead he lazily reaches over, there’s not much to it, some quick, irregular strokes and Snow is done. Stamina is another of the lessons in Theon’s mental plan.

“Thank you. Goodnight,” Snow says politely, scrambling off the bed and gathering his clothes.

Theon watches him dress, wondering if Snow will go to bed now or meet his mysterious boy. Sure, he could sneak out and after him, but the last time he’s tried that, Snow had only gone straight to his chamber, leaving Theon feeling like an idiot.

Alone again, Theon lays down on his back, staring into the darkness. Who can it be? Someone close to Snow’s age in all probability. There’s Dovan, for example, one of the kitchen boys. He’s a thin lad with huge dark eyes, always looking on the brink of starving despite the huge amounts he eats.

Sygfrey is another good guess. He’s Mikken’s unofficial apprentice, a boy from Wintertown who comes to the castle nearly every day to bang around on some metal. Not much going on in his head, but he’s friendly and kind-hearted, and his muscles are definitely worth a second glance. Snow sure does visit Mikken a lot.

Apart from that there’s Anndra, a young trader who comes to Winterfell twice a month with all sorts of things. Lady Stark always buys soap from him. Maybe that’s what Snow’s hair smells like, one of Anndra’s soaps. Theon knows he has his hut not far away. It could be possible.

The last possibility - and one Theon wouldn’t ever have thought possible if he hadn’t witnessed a certain moment - is Jory Cassel. He’s older, true, but he’s not that ugly, he’s a skilled swordsman and the nephew of Ser Rodrik. It wouldn’t be hard for him to get close to Snow under the pretense of training.

Theon grimaces, turning onto his stomach. The thought is disquieting somehow, that Snow would want to use his newly acquired skills on Jory Cassel. The man is no green boy, he has lots of experience and, being a Northerner, probably not only with wenches. Not a man Theon would want to let the little virgin loose on.

It can’t be Jory, Theon tells himself. Jory is one hundred percent loyal to Lord Eddard, and somehow Theon has the idea that said Lord wouldn’t be best pleased if his most trusted man would fuck his bastard son. But there _has_ been that incident Theon has witnessed, just two days ago.

Snow, ever the good boy, had offered to store the weapons away after training. Jory had gone to help, and on their way into the armory his hand had come to lie very low on the small of Snow’s back. _Very_ low. Theon had watched them like a hawk at dinner, and he’s sure Snow had looked at Cassel more often than necessary.

Theon sighs. He’d rather it be one of the other boys. Young and nice, unthreatening lads that wouldn’t be hard to get rid of, should something happen. Not that Theon is worried about Snow, it’s only that _if_ something happened, they’d have a hard time replacing Jory.

***

“You want me to take it in my mouth?”

Snow eyes Theon’s prick with an unreadable look. He’s been doing good with his hands the last few nights, getting better at it every time. So tonight Theon has decided it’s time for one of his favourite pastimes - getting sucked off. Snow’ mouth is one of his best features, nice and plump and rosy, and Theon has been curious to finally find out if feels as good as it looks.

“That’s the best, Snow. The best you can do for your boy, save letting him fuck you. It feels amazing.”

“I have to put it in my mouth? The whole thing?”

Snow looks dubious, and Theon can’t blame him for that. He is rather big. But if Snow wants to learn there’s no way around it.

“Not at once. At least not in the beginning.” Theon pauses. “Have you ever seen your sweetling naked? Is he big?”

“Very,” Snow mutters, blushing hotly.

Theon wants to laugh in relief. Definitely not Jory then. He’s seen him naked and erect once in the brothel, and he’s definitely _not_ very big. Gotta be Sygfrey, the boy has a huge tool - if the outline in his breeches is any indication.

“Greyjoy…” Snow’s voice rips Theon out of his thoughts, he looks at him questioningly. Snow’s cheeks burn. “Can you… can you show me how?”

Theon blinks, taken aback. The sheer audacity nearly stuns him, but then he breaks into laughter.

“Sorry, Snow,” he chuckles when he’s calmed down again, wiping his eyes. “Have you forgotten who I am? I’m the future Lord Reaper of Pyke, a true Ironborn. We don’t suck cock, we get sucked.”

“What if you were in love with a boy,” Snow insists stubbornly, “wouldn’t you want to make him feel good too?”

“See, Snow, there’s the difference. I could never fall in love with a boy. Or a girl, for that matter. Love isn’t for Ironborn. We do our duty by our rock wives, we respect them and provide for them, and we fuck anyone else that catches our fancy. Love,” Theon sneers. “What an overrated concept.”

Snow has grown very quiet throughout Theon’s speech, but now he jumps to his feet, hastily pulling on his clothes. Theon watches him, puzzled.

“What do you think you’re doing there?”

“Fuck you, Greyjoy,” Snow hisses, nearly tumbling over in his haste to get into his boots. “Fuck you to the deepest hell. You know nothing of love and you never will, you giant, utter asshole!”

He straightens, fists balled, his face is red and there are tears in his eyes.

“Fuck you and your fucking prick and your fucked up attitude! The only thing I could learn from you is nothing but shit!”

And with that he surges out, slamming the door closed behind him. Theon stares at it in consternation. What in the fucking Drowned God’s name is _that_ supposed to mean? Snow’s teary face still dances before Theon’s eyes. How upset he is! And over what? Just because Theon told him he’s not into that love stuff…

Oh.

Theon slumps back, feeling like someone has lit a torch in his brain. It’s him. Snow is in love with _him_. Oh fuck. All of this has just been a sneaky ruse to get Theon into bed. And maybe Snow had hoped he’d fall for him along the way. Well, that hope is now thoroughly crushed. Stupid boy, Theon thinks, his chest tightening in a surprising tinge of sympathy. If he’d just told him, at least Theon could’ve let him down gently.

Or at least, now he would. Before all this he might’ve laughed Snow out of the door, and would’ve made cruel jokes for a while. But Snow definitely has grown a little on Theon. His eagerness, his fluffy head, his rosy pout… And Theon still wants to fuck that pout.

He decides to give Snow a day to mend his broken heart before Theon corners him on their way to the stables. Snow doesn’t seem in the mood for an amenable conversation, but Theon insists and finally Snow follows him into an empty box at the back.

“What,” Snow grunts when they are alone.

“Look, Snow.” Theon puts on his best understanding look. “I found out, okay? It’s me. You don’t have to say anything,” he declares when Snow looks at him in astonishment. “It is clear as day now. And I’m very sorry, but what I said won’t change anytime. I’m not in love with you, nor will I ever be.”

“Oh gods,” Snow snorts inelegantly. “You got it wrong, you self-absorbed moron. It’s not you.”

Aw. Theon shakes his head. How brave Snow is, still trying to deny the truth they both know.

“Now that we’ve made that clear, I want to tell you that I stand by what I said earlier. I do want you in my bed,” Theon tells Snow, feeling incredibly gracious.

“You mean you’d still be willing to teach me?” Snow’s ears redden at the tips, he looks hopeful. “Even after what I said?”

“You were disappointed, I understand that,” Theon assures him. “And as long as we’re on the same page - no love, I won’t suck your cock and you won’t fuck me - I don’t see why we can’t have some fun.”

“I was only disappointed in myself for expecting you to understand anything,” Snow mutters. “I’m not in love with you, Greyjoy.”

Theon shrugs. If Snow wants to tell himself that to guard his little bastard heart, fine by him. He’s left no doubt of his intentions, and if Snow thinks he can handle it, all the better.

“Tonight then?” he asks, then decides to be nice and strokes Snow’s arm. “Pick up where we left off?”

“Aye.” Snow peers down at Theon’s hand on his arm with raised eyebrows. “Tonight.”

***

Theon watches Snow undress with a sense of detachment that night, observing as layer after layer is peeled off, revealing that soft skin he’d noted when the bastard had stripped here for the first time. To think it hasn’t even been a fortnight!

The process in itself isn’t spectacular, Snow doesn’t make a show of taking his clothes off, yet he does it with a certain, natural elegance, betraying the noble part of his blood. She must’ve been quite something, Snow’s mother, to dissolve Lord Eddard’s honour. And maybe there’s a trace of her in Snow’s mouth, the only part in his face that isn’t Stark at all.

Snow kneels on the bed, eyes focused on a spot somewhere above Theon’s left ear, but save for a slight, becoming hint of red in his cheeks he seems calm and collected. Good, Theon thinks, since he’s not going to coddle the boy’s sensitive heart.

“So,” Snow finally says, “I take it in my mouth and then?”

“You suck,” Theon states. “We’ll leave the throat-fucking for when you’re more experienced. For a start, you just suck. Gently, of course. Not a hint of teeth unless the owner of whatever prick you choose to suck explicitly states otherwise.”

“No teeth.” Snow nods. “Anything else?”

“You use your tongue. But we’ll come to that later, for now you just take it in hand, a nice, tight grip at the base, and suck at the head.”

Snow tilts his head as he reaches out, dragging one finger carefully down Theon’s hardening prick. He looks deep in thought as he settles himself onto his stomach, now stroking with more fingers.

“I think I want to--”

Snow pauses, and Theon just wants to tell him to get on with it when suddenly he bends down and slowly licks over the head. Theon jolts, he didn’t tell him to do that but it feels undeniably good, so he keeps his mouth shut for once, just waiting for Snow to carry on with what he’s doing.

Snow licks his lips, keeping them slightly apart as he closes his eyes and sucks Theon’s prick between them. The soft pressure feels amazing, and Theon is caught between arousal and irritation. Who the fuck has told Snow to do that?

And who has told him to flatten his tongue and press it against the sensitive point on the underside of the head while simultaneously hollowing his cheeks and - Theon’s head is swimming, and now Snow takes him in further, deeper, sucking gently then harder, until Theon can feel his prick hitting the back of Snow’s mouth.

He tries to pull back, in case Snow should gag - he really doesn’t want him to vomit now - but with little success. On the contrary, Snow’s grip around the base tightens while his other hand firmly clamps down on Theon’s thigh, effectively holding him in place - and sinking impossibly further down.

Theon finally loses his grip on himself, his hands tangle in the bastard’s hair on their own accord and he moans, loud and drawn out. Snow seems encouraged, he starts bobbing his head up and down, he’s drooling, warm wetness dripping down Theon’s cock, a low sound from Snow’s throat, his tongue working the underside of Theon’s prick…

Theon pants, groans, murmurs words of encouragement, yes, more, just like this, Drowned Fuck, _Snow,_ his bollocks tingle, his muscles tense, no time for a warning, and then Snow opens his eyes, deep and dark and challenging, Theon can’t look away, as if he’s spellbound, and with a hoarse, shuddery cry he spills in long pumps into Snow’s eager mouth.

“Greyjoy.”

Theon frowns, unwilling to leave his blissful state of mind.

“Hello, Greyjoy?”

Theon opens his eyes to glare at Snow, now sitting instead of lying, thank fuck, that sight has been too much. Slowly his heartbeat is starting to slow down again, the bed has stopped rocking, and Theon heaves a heavy sigh.

“What is it? Can’t you let a man enjoy his pleasure for a moment before you start pestering him?”

“Was it good? It was rubbish, right?”

Snow looks a little dazed himself, and Theon just contemplates telling him it was the best he’s ever had when Snow shakes his head.

“I’m sorry. I guess we have to do that every night now, until I am good at it.”

Well, Theon smirks, swallowing back the praise already on the tip of his tongue…

“Aye, Snow. We will have to practise this _very_ thoroughly.”

Actually, Theon muses as he reaches for Snow’s prick, a little white lie isn’t going to hurt Snow here. He seemed to enjoy it well enough, and he’s in love with Theon after all.

***

Nighttime can’t come fast enough these days. Theon, normally prone to lingering behind in the Great Hall to see if one of the serving girls is up for a tumble, now retires directly after dinner, hastening to his bedchamber to await Snow and his mouth.

Luckily no one is particularly interested in Theon’s new routine. Robb has given him a couple odd glances and Theon is sure he’ll get an earful upon meeting Ros the next time - he hasn’t been to Wintertown for ages - but none of it matters. Only one thing matters, and that is Snow’s mouth on Theon’s prick.

It has developed into an addiction, just like some men are to shade of the evening or milk of the poppy. Theon is addicted to getting sucked off by Snow. It fascinates him excessively, how talented the boy is in this regard, how incredibly skilled his lips and tongue are.

He thinks about it all day, from waking up until he finally gets it. And when it’s over he immediately starts craving it again, sometimes even when it’s still happening. He wants to grip Snow’s hair like the reins of a horse and keep him in place, keep him there for hours to enjoy the wet warmth of the bastard’s mouth, the little noises of enjoyment he makes.

It still baffles Theon, how much Snow enjoys doing this to him. On some days he even spills like that, Theon’s prick fucking into his mouth as hard as he dares, rutting against the furs… Snow seems to like this the most, when Theon gets impatient and thrusts deep into his throat.

Theon settles onto the bed, already naked and more than ready. Snow had still been eating his baked apple when Theon had left, tormenting him with his rosy mouth and deep, soft eyes. Those eyes… Theon wants the act to go on forever, all night and day, but he also rushes himself to the moment when Snow notices Theon’s about to spill, when he glances up at him from under his lashes. That look never fails to rip Theon over the edge.

If this is what Snow is like when in love with him, Theon can very well live with it. The boy is still denying it vehemently every time Theon teases him about it, but Theon only laughs and pets whatever part of Snow is easiest to reach. How could Snow ever fake that look that makes Theon explode in bed, and lets warmth sweep all over him when he gets a glimpse of it during the day?

Theon shifts around impatiently. Where the fuck is he?? It’s been some time now. The night is dark, there are not many noises coming from the yards, and usually dinner should be over and everyone retiring now. Lord Eddard tends to visit the godswood at this time, Lady Stark her sept, usually with the younger children in tow before shooing them off to bed. Snow should be here by now.

Theon waits. The fire burns down into a heap of glowing amber, and still Snow hasn’t come, and Theon starts to worry. Has he been caught on his way up? Or maybe he doesn’t feel well and has gone to bed. Theon shrugs. It’s not as if he cares either way, but the thought of not getting it tonight, of not getting Snow’s mouth, is painful.

Well, Theon sure as hell won’t run after the bastard. He slips off the bed and puts his clothes back on, just the breeches and a long tunic, deciding he’ll go down and see if some mead is left, or maybe he’ll find another willing mouth. Romilly has been giving him the evil eye for a while now, maybe Theon should look for her, give her some attention again. It’s good to have a devoted serving girl at hand.

The castle is quiet, it always is after nightfall when there’s no feast or guests. Theon finds the Great Hall empty, no mead, no Romilly, not there and not in the kitchens. At least in the kitchens he’s able to charm the old cook into giving him a glass of wine and the last baked apple no one wanted.

Biting into it Theon turns back to return to his chamber, through the yard and into a dark stairwell - and that’s where he suddenly hears Snow’s voice, a tinge of amusement to it. Theon stops in his tracks, barely daring to breathe. He creeps closer.

“He’s still adamant I’m in love with him.”

A soft, deep chuckle from another source has the hairs on Theon’s back stand on end. It sounds familiar, but that cannot be.

“I can’t believe you did that. For me.”

The blood freezes in Theon’s veins, his feet are frozen to the spot. He cannot see into the dark alcove, but he hears every word.

“I would’ve been good to wait, Jon. It doesn’t matter if you know what to do.” A pause, rustling clothes. “I want you.”

Theon’s heart is beating so loud it’s like thunder in his ears. Not Sygfrey. Not Anndra. Not Jory. His hand shoots out to hold onto the wall. Not Theon.

“I’ll make you feel so good,” Snow murmurs, “I know what to do. He showed me everything I need to make you feel better than ever.”

“I love you, Jon. It doesn’t matter. Anytime you touch me my skin catches fire.”

“It matters to me.” A smile in Snow’s voice, a soft groan. “See? I would’ve had no idea how to touch you, how to make love to you.”

“Theon and love making?” Another chuckle. The wall feels like it’s crumbling beneath Theon’s palm. He feels lightheaded. A moan, low and desperate. “Touch me, Jon, I beg you. I need you.”

A thump, as if someone has dropped something. More clothes rustling. A slick, wet sound, a long, low groan.

“Jon,” Robb moans in the darkness, “oh Jon!”

***

His head pounding, Theon sits at breakfast. He feels as if Winterfell had caved in on top of him. He still cannot believe it in a way, what he’s heard the night before. But the evidence is there, in Snow’s glowing face, relaxed and soft, in the dark purple spot on Robb’s neck, only partially covered by his collar. It is there in the way they don’t look at each other, in the way their legs touch under the table.

Theon feels sick. Fuck this northern brood, fuck them all to the seven hells and back. How dare Snow? How dare he lay hands on the heir to Winterfell, how dare he use Theon to learn how to seduce his half-brother? How dare Robb go along with this, as if he has no honour at all, as if he’s just a whore Theon could’ve had anytime he wanted to?

His stomach clenches, his knuckles are white as he grips his cup. How dare Snow pretend to be in love with him when in truth it had all been for Robb? How dare he suck him off with his glorious mouth, him and not Theon? How dare he look Theon in the eyes right now, as if all is well, as if nothing’s ever happened?

He will show Snow. No one uses Theon Greyjoy like that. Theon contemplates it all day, what to do, how to get his revenge. He ponders exposing them, giving Ned Stark a hint, or even better, Lady Stark. That would put an end to it, that would get Snow sent to the Wall and Theon would never have to see his face again, the mouth, not for him, the eyes, looking at another.

The thought is excruciating. There has to be another way. A way to remind Snow who Theon Greyjoy is, a way to make him beg for mercy. A way to put his mark on Snow for now and forever. A way to… Ah. Yes. Theon smiles to himself, the first smile since his discovering the truth. _I’ll make you wish you’d never come to me, Snow._

He waits for him on their way to dinner, smiling his most charming smile.

“Are you alright, Snow? I was worried when you didn’t show up yesterday.”

Theon listens to Snow making excuses, all the while smiling down at him.

“Pity, Snow. I had big plans for yesterday.” A quick look around confirms they’re alone, and Theon leans in to whisper in Snow’s ear. “You’re ready for my cock. I want to fuck you, Snow.”

Snow shudders, his head turning a little so his mouth is close to Theon’s, his hand coming up to his chest.

“Last lesson, Greyjoy?” he mumbles, “Last time I’ll come. I won’t need anything from you after that.”

“Aye,” Theon hisses, his lips grazing Snow’s. “Last lesson. Last time.”

***

“You could at least let me have a look. To see how it is, should it happen the other way round.”

Snow sits on Theon’s bed, pouting and brooding as if nothing’s ever happened. It takes all of Theon’s acting skills to play along, he huffs and rolls onto his stomach.

“Not very likely. You’re made for being laid on your back. But please, if it means so much to you… Go ahead, take your look, touch if you like - but if anything goes in there I swear by the Drowned God I will kill you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Snow mutters insolently, crawling nearer and settling between Theon’s legs. “I’ll just take a look.”

Theon closes his eyes and waits. Anything to lure Snow into a false sense of security, anything to have him willing to do this. Still, when Snow’s hands carefully spread Theon’s cheeks, he can’t repress the nervous fluttering in his stomach. For a long time Snow says nothing, he just looks as he’s promised.

“It’s so tiny,” Theon finally hears him say. “I cannot imagine how to fit a prick into something so tiny.”

“It fits, believe me,” Theon grumbles into his pillow. “The more often you do it, the easier it gets. I’ve fucked many a boy whore and they were all perfectly fine. You just need something to slick it, to smooth the glide. Flaxseed oil serves the purpose.”

“Can I touch it?”

“I told you, Snow. Just see that you stay out of it.”

Snow doesn’t answer, but a warm finger is pressed gently against Theon’s hole, starting to stroke it, rubbing up and down the crease. It feels strange, sending a low tingle through Theon’s balls and prick.

“It seems like you could…”

Before Theon can ask what it is that one could, he flinches hard as he suddenly feels Snow’s hot breath on his skin, so near, way too near, but he doesn’t find his voice quickly enough and then it’s too late. Wet and warm Snow’s tongue swipes over Theon, from his bollocks to his hole, tickling over it and down again.

Theon gasps as Snow repeats the motion, as he circles his rim with that magic tongue of his, and fuck it feels good, so good, _so good_ , and he’s never going to get it again, it’ll all be Robb’s. Theon can’t take it any second longer, he cries out and inches away to the side. Snow’s mouth on him vanishes, a hand hesitantly strokes his arse.

“Not good?” Snow asks, sounding crushed.

“Very good,” Theon pants out, because what’s the use in lying here? “What the fuck made you do that?”

“Felt like it is all.” Snow sniffles, and Theon turns to face him. He’s bright red, his lips puffy. “Why did you stop me if it was good? I liked that.”

“I did too, but we’re never going to get you fucked if you keep doing _that._ Now,” Theon scrambles up, “be a good boy and get on your hands and knees. According to the boy whores that’s how you do it in the beginning.”

“They should know what they’re talking about,” Snow muses as he gets into position, but suddenly he hesitates. “Will it hurt?”

Theon thinks about saying no, to make the impact even bigger, the shock harder. He wants to hurt Snow. This is a punishment. For all the times Snow has let him believe he’s in love with him. For all the times he gave Theon a pleasure thus far unknown. For the time to come, the time without Snow in Theon’s bed. He shakes his head.

“Aye, it will. In the beginning. But then it’ll feel good. They always… the first I had, he was very talkative. He told me everything about how it feels.”

Snow nods, and smiles. He smiles at Theon as if he were the one, as if there was no Robb waiting for him somewhere, as if this would mean something. Theon’s stomach tightens into a knot, anger surging through him, he takes a deep breath and smiles back, reassuringly, as if Snow would mean anything to _him._

This seals the deal and Snow drops down onto his hands, his round, white arse right there for Theon to take. Oh, the stupid bastard… Theon smiles to himself as he uncorks the vial of oil he’s taken with him from the stables, the same one they use for the leather. Yes, he’ll ride the bastard good.

Meticulously, he coats his fingers with the slippery liquid, pouring a generous amount directly onto Snow’s tiny pink hole. The bastard gasps, then groans in surprise as Theon rubs one finger over his entrance, dipping in just the fingertip, just for a moment before massaging him again.

“Feels good?” Theon asks, careful to keep his voice politely interested.

“It…” Snow takes a deep breath. “Aye, it does.”

Good. Theon takes more oil, hardly able to grasp the vial with his slick fingers. Slowly he inserts one into Snow, a smooth glide into a tight warmth, listening for Snow’s reactions. He moans lowly, quietly, and Theon dares to add a second finger while gripping Snow’s prick with his other hand.

This has to burn a little, more of a stretch, but Snow takes it beautifully, his prick hardening in Theon’s slick hand. Theon searches for the spot all the boy whores liked so much, and when he’s found it he presses down with both fingers, Snow’s head surges up and he cries out.

“Good?” Theon asks again, though unnecessarily as Snow pants and gasps, his prick oozing drops of liquid.

“Aye… just…”

“Don’t worry, Snow,” Theon murmurs soothingly. “I’ll give you what you want.”

He should do more, he knows, but he’s too eager for this, it’s impossible to wait for another minute. Theon pours the rest of the oil over his own impossibly hard prick and lines up with Snow’s hole.

“Ready?” he asks innocently, stroking Snow’s back in a gentle way, like he’d stroke a spooked horse.

“Ready,” the bastard whispers, and then he screams when Theon pushes inside in one endless, slick glide.

The hot walls grip Theon’s dick impossibly tight, he has to catch his breath, it feels so good, he barely knows his own name anymore. Beneath him Snow breathes quickly, small noises of pain escaping his throat, adding to the incredible feeling rushing through Theon’s body.

“Theon,” Snow says, and Theon’s blood turns to ice. “Theon…”

Theon shivers from head to toe, ready to draw back and stop all attempts at punishment, he can’t do this, not with Snow calling him by his name and--

“Fuck me, Theon,” Snow cries out, and all the dams break.

Theon holds onto the bastard’s hips, he pulls out and thrusts back in, so tight, so good, Snow screams beautifully, asking for more, pleading, and suddenly Theon hates him, hates him for being so good, for taking his cock as if he was made for it, for leaving him and replacing him with Robb’s.

He grips the bastard’s hair, pulling him against his chest, and this time Snow cries out in genuine pain. Theon holds him tight, one arm clamped around Snow’s chest as he fucks into him as hard as he can.

“Why don’t you say it, bastard? The name you really want to say? I’m sure he’ll fuck you good, he’s good at everything he does, isn’t he?”

Snow’s head falls back against Theon’s shoulder, he arches his spine and grinds down onto Theon’s lap. Theon’s hand leaves Snow’s sweaty curls and wraps around the bastard’s dripping cock, jerking it hard and fast.

“He’ll fuck you with his huge cock, he’ll split you in half, and you’ll love it, won’t you? You’ll moan for him, you’ll cry, you’ll scream his name. Robb,” Theon hisses, swallowing Snow’s shocked cry with his mouth before shoving him away.

Snow lands on his arms, shivering all over, but Theon isn’t done with him yet. He pushes him over onto his back and drapes his body over Snow as he slides into him again, relishing the unbelievably tight, slick heat. Theon grips fistfuls of damp, black hair, speaking into Snow's ear.

“But you’ll never forget that it was _me_ who had you first. That it was _me_ who knew how you feel first, that it was _my_ seed you swallowed, that it was _me_ who fucked you so good you begged for more, that it was _me_ doing this to you!”

He angles himself to hit Snow’s sweet spot, jerking his prick a last time. It pulses in his hand, and with a sob Snow spills over Theon’s hand and his own belly. Theon laughs as he follows him, as he fills that sweet arse with his seed, as he claims him and all his firsts.

Theon rolls off of Snow, teasingly stroking his heaving chest.

“Remember, bastard. Remember how Theon Greyjoy had you first, and no matter how many times you take Robb’s cock, he can never change that.”

Snow’s face crumbles, he surges up and gathers his clothes, his eyes burning with rage.

“You were the first I hated too.”

And with that he’s gone, leaving Theon with a sense of loss, and not a hint of the triumph he was so sure he’d feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone actually surprised? I can't imagine it. Who else was it gonna be... 
> 
> But I do want to apologize should anyone not like the thought of first-cousins-who-think-they're-half-brothers-incest. I really couldn't tag it without spoiling the ending of this chapter. I will however add the tag before posting chapter 3 and the more explicit stuff Jon and Robb get up to. 
> 
> This is still a Greysnow story though! 
> 
> Also, I'm curious - did anyone catch the epic hero saga I referenced in this chapter? The first one who did gets a fic of their choosing as a prize (within my ability of course. You know what pairings I write :))
> 
> Hint: It's a European Hero


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part!

Theon wishes his father would die. It’s not that he hadn’t wished that a thousand times before, especially as a child, when Winterfell had been a cold and scary place and Balon’s death the only possible way to go home again. Later it had been the thoughts of a resentful boy, not yet a man grown. Father had given him away, to his enemies, he might as well fall off a cliff. 

It had gotten better over time, and as loath as Theon is to admit it, Winterfell has become his home, Robb his brother. But right now Theon contemplates hiring a knife for his father, anything to escape from this fucked up shithole, the fucked up Northern brood, the bastard and his lover. 

Robb looks at Theon all the time now. It’s a strange mix of expressions he wears, shifting from anger to disappointment, from smugness to a high and mighty lordling glare, to the worst of all. Pity. Robb Stark pities him. For what Theon doesn’t know, surely the bastard has told Robb of their last interaction. And while all the other looks fit, Theon can’t comprehend where the pity comes from. 

And the bastard. He hates the bastard. Hates him so much it is like a permanent glow inside his chest, a blazing piece of coal wrapped in dry moss that he’s carrying with him, feeding it everytime he sees one of them, or both. It doesn’t happen often, they’re careful as they ought to be. But Theon still sees. 

How Robb and the bastard will sit too close, how their fingers brush, how the bastard looks at Robb when he thinks no one is watching, how undiluted yearning colours his face in that ridiculous red Theon hates so much. How Robb’s fingers tighten on the bastard’s shoulders when he sees Theon watching. Protective. Possessive. Theon hates him too. 

He’s lonely. That last time with the bastard has burned all bridges, has severed the easy friendship between him and Robb. He’s unsatisfied. Although Theon does his best to change that, although he fucks every wench standing still longer than two minutes, although he spends all his money in Wintertown, he just can’t seem to take the edge off. 

There’s even been that boy, a young, pretty thing, eager and willing and definitely worth his coin. Dainty black curls, big eyes, a slender build… Theon has forgotten his name, something utterly ridiculous, but in the end it doesn’t matter. Wrong curls, wrong eyes, wrong mouth. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He won’t visit him again, not that he can, he’d just been passing through on his way north. Too embarrassing, the moment when he’d spilled, whispering the wrong name. 

Today had been better. Robb and the bastard were gone all day, riding or hunting or some other stupid expression for, we’re fucking our brains out in the woods. Theon had spent the day by himself, as usual now, holed up in his room, working on his arrows. He feels tired and dirty from all the wood dust and feathers, his arms hurt from the regular movements of smoothing a new shaft. At least, Theon thinks, there’s that one thing in Winterfell that will never stop being good. 

On his way to the hot springs Theon muses his possible entertainments for the night. Not Wintertown again, he doesn’t have much coin left. Not the kitchens - he can feel a monstrous headache coming on, and the thought of being charming is too much to bear tonight. Maybe he’ll just relax in the water, have a lazy wank to the thought of choking the bastard--

A moan stops Theon in his tracks. Fucking no. He should go, turn around immediately, but instead he steals nearer, closer to the edge of the biggest pool. They’re careless. Anyone could come here at any moment, could catch them doing this. Doing…  _ this.  _ It’s disgusting. Theon can’t take his eyes off of them. 

The bastard has his back to Theon, straddling Robb’s lap, hands wrapped around his neck. He’s moving, up and down in a slow, rhythmic glide that sends shivers all over Theon’s spine. His hair is damp, loose curls sticking to the bastard’s nape, his back is shining with sweat, from the hot water or Robb’s cock moving in him. 

Theon watches Robb’s large hands on the bastard’s hips, guiding him, pulling him close, a gentle hold. Theon would dig his fingers deep into the bastard’s skin, would trap him in place and fuck into him with all his might, would make him cry out in sheer ecstasy. This is slow, a sensual glide, this is love making, gentle kisses interrupted by soft moans. This is hell. 

And yet Theon can’t turn away, his eyes glued to the spot just below the waterline where he cannot see how that big, fat Stark cock disappears in the bastard’s tight hole, he wants to see it so much, just a step closer… A twig breaks, echoing in the stillness of the godswood, and Theon closes his eyes, frozen. They will come for him. He should run. 

Nothing changes. The sounds of water slashing, the moaning, the whispering, it continues as if they haven’t heard. Is it possible? Can they be so wrapped up in one another? Theon opens his eyes, the need to see getting overwhelming. And Robb is staring right back at him. Theon’s heart beats faster, too fast, too loud, and Robb doesn’t look away, his eyes wearing a new expression now. 

Speculation. 

His hands move down from the bastard’s hips to his arse, he lifts him easily, and now Theon can see, can see everything, and it is worse than anything he’s imagined. So thick, it looks as if the bastard is impaled on this big cock, it seems wrong, it shouldn’t work, perverse and transfixing. 

The bastard speeds up in his movements now, coming down harder, taking all of it, all of it like a fucking whore, his round arse stretched so wide around Robb’s cock. Theon’s mouth feels dry, his blood is pounding in his ears, his hand grips his own aching prick through his breeches, and still Robb doesn’t look away, challenging gaze locked on Theon’s as he bends his head and sucks on the bastard’s shoulder. 

The bastard cries out and stiffens, and Theon can feel his prick pulsing under his rubbing hand, soiling his clothes like a green boy, his lips open, a soundless cry, and Robb shudders in the warmth of the water, in the warmth of Snow, and all is over and Theon wants to scream. For just a moment he had felt not alone, a part of them, and now it is over. 

He stumbles backwards, not caring how much noise he makes, just needing to get away from what he can never have. There’s no escape. Tossing and turning in his furs Theon cannot sleep, cannot forget. Over and over he replays the scene in his head, the bastard’s stretched hole swallowing Robb’s cock as good as it had taken Theon’s, beautiful, wrong, the moment Robb had spilled inside him while looking into Theon’s eyes… 

Never again, Theon resolves, desperately jerking his already sore prick, he cannot go near them ever again. 

***

“Good morning, Theon. Sleep well?”

Theon sits up quickly as he becomes aware that this is not a dream. That Robb is really sitting in the chair, long legs stretched out, one arm casually propped on the table, fingers drumming on the wooden surface. Theon fights the urge to hide beneath his furs. Robb will kill him now. 

“Robb, I can explain--”

Robb raises a hand and Theon falls quiet. He looks so much a lord right now, the way he holds himself, the gesture, the cool look in his bright blue eyes. A shiver Theon can’t contain turns his skin to gooseflesh. His breath seems stuck in his lungs, his head feels light. Maybe it is a dream after all, a nightmare, like the ones where Lord Eddard comes for him with Ice. 

“I’m going to ask you some questions. And I want you to answer truthfully.” A small smile curls Robb’s lip, not the normal, warm one. This one seems cruel. “Don’t forget who you  _ have _ to answer to, Greyjoy.”

“Not you,” Theon snaps, despite his fear. This is a low blow.  “Not for many years to come.”

“Huh.” Robb’s smile widens, it seems more genuine now. “You are a moron, you really are. Not very wise to aggravate the man whose father is your warden. Not very wise to stalk on him. Not very wise to want the only thing he’s ever truly wanted himself.”

“I don’t want the bastard!” Theon feels himself getting angry. Robb has it all wrong. “You’re more than welcome to him and to his whorish arseh--”

With a move too quick to anticipate Robb has crossed the room and slapped Theon across the face. Theon stares at him, cheek hot and throbbing. Robb’s eyes are dark now as he’s looming over Theon. 

“Don’t you dare, Greyjoy. Don’t you dare talk about him like that! Jon may be born on the wrong side of the bed, but his little finger is worth more than our whole highborn selves.” Robb straightens, taking a deep breath. “As you are very well aware.”

What? Theon watches in disbelief as Robb settles on the bed, looking at him with a thoughtful expression. What did he mean - Theon is aware of nothing of the sort for fuck’s sake! Robb chuckles, patting Theon’s leg through the fur. 

“Good old Theon, still in denial. You forget I’ve known you since I was eight. And I have seen how you look at Jon.”

“As if I want to strangle him,” Theon mutters, trying to edge away, but Robb’s heavy hand keeps him stuck. “As if I want to smash in his stupid face.”

“I’d rather you don’t,” Robb remarks dryly, then his mouth softens into a smile “His face is the most precious thing I possess.”

Urgh. Theon has to repress a disgusted grimace. Possess. Precious. Robb sounds like Sansa with her tales of true love and romantic knights. Possess.  _ Possess.  _ Robb really gets everything, doesn’t he? Theon feels like vomiting. It’s so unfair.

“So, my question to you,” Robb says into Theon’s thoughts. “You want Jon, don’t you? Stop denying it, Theon,” he continues, impatient, as Theon opens his mouth to protest. “I saw how you looked at him. How you touched yourself while staring at him.”

Theon has to think quickly now, flight forward the only option. Anything better than confessing to something that isn’t even true. He doesn’t want the bloody bastard. 

“I was looking at you,” he hisses, his face burning at the half lie. “You’re quite a sight, Stark.”

“Please,” Robb rolls his eyes, “if that is true you’ve been decidedly cross-eyed yesterday. On the other hand I  _ did _ get the feeling that you… enjoyed… watching the both of us.” He leans forward, his grip on Theon’s leg tightening. “You liked seeing my cock disappear in him. You liked how he looked riding it, didn’t you? You liked--”

“It should’ve been me!!” Theon shouts, sick of Robb and his honeyed words, the pictures they paint. “It should’ve been  _ my _ cock making him moan! I would fuck him good, I would make him scream!”

“Aye,” Robb says, eyes glittering with mirth. “And if you stop being a pigheaded idiot for a second… you will.”

***

“I’m sorry, Robb. Did you wait very long? Arya caught me and I had a hard time--”

The bastard abruptly stops as he turns around from closing the door, disbelief clouding his face as he takes them in. Robb, already shirtless on the bed, looking as comfortable in the cool air as if it were blazing hot - and Theon, shivering on his chair, in his thick tunic. Of course it’s the cold that makes him shiver, not the sight of the bastard. 

“What…” Snow looks between them, his eye wandering down Robb’s chest before he focuses on Theon, plain murder in his gaze. “I swear to you if you touched him…”

“Please, Snow,” Theon says, faking a confidence he doesn’t feel right now. “Should I ever have a strong death wish, yes, then I’ll lay my hands on the lordling.”

“You didn’t have those queries when you touched Jon,” Robb meddles from the bed. “Were you not afraid then too?”

“He’s just a bastard.” Theon smiles at Snow, bristling angrily where he is still rooted to the spot. “And a consenting bastard at that. Would’ve been too honourable, wouldn’t you, Snow? To shout rape when you’ve been coming into my bed all too willingly?” Theon shrugs. “A slap on the wrist is probably the worst that would’ve happened.”

Snow growls, looking as if he’ll pounce on Theon every moment now. 

“You on the other hand…” Theon deliberately takes in Robb’s torso, the broad shoulders, the sparsely furred chest. “You could consent all you like and your lady mother would still have me drawn and quartered before your father has even had the chance to send for his sword.”

“Then why are you here, Greyjoy,” the bastard snarls, hands clamping into fists. “Lady Catelyn will have to get in line if you so much as lay a finger on him!”

“Jon,” Robb says, a soothing, sickly gentle tone in his voice. “Jon, come here.”

With another thunderous glare at Theon Snow follows his brother’s plea, he walks over and kneels on the bed. Robb catches his neck, drawing him into a soft kiss, always so soft. Theon sneers. He’d bite down on that plump flesh, make the bastard yelp in pain. 

“I want him to watch,” Robb murmurs against Snow’s mouth, “like he did in the godswood a fortnight ago. I liked being watched.”

“So this is for you then?” Snow noses at Robb’s neck, making him shudder. “You know I could never refuse you anything, you old pervert.”

Robb laughs, hands working fast to untie the knots on Snow’s tunic, dragging it over his head. Theon swallows as the milk-white skin is revealed, a bruise on his ribs, a scratch down his collarbone. Training, Theon muses. Robb wouldn’t have the balls to hurt Snow during their trifles in bed. 

They clearly have a routine established already, in the short months since Theon had had him for the first time, last time, only time. He watches them kiss and murmur sweet, moronic nonsense, love you so much sweetling, I’d do anything for you, blablablabla. 

He watches Robb’s hands roam over the bastard’s body, with a sickening confidence that whatever he touches is his, that wherever he moves he’s welcome. He watches them undress, watches Snow’s head dive between Robb’s legs, watches Robb get everything Theon had and more, hears Snow’s moans and slick sucking noises as he swallows the whole thing as if it were nothing…

Snow seems to have completely forgotten about Theon’s existence, or maybe he’s ignoring him deliberately. Not Robb. Robb looks, Robb smiles his knowing smile, Robb’s lips form words Theon cannot make out, doesn’t want to make out. He’s trying so hard to be disgusted, to find it all wrong and ugly and repulsive - it is not. It is beautiful. 

It is beautiful how Robb lays back and lets the bastard straddle him, how his fingers, slicked and shining, get Snow ready, it doesn’t take much, they must do this so often, so often while Theon is not there. Two men doing this, it should seem gross and revolting to Theon, and yet his prick is achingly hard in his breeches and when Snow sinks down on Robb’s cock Theon moans in agony, alone and untouched in his chair, so far apart from them, a world away from Snow.

He wants the bastard. As much as Theon has denied the fact, and will deny it to his last breath, he wants him. In his bed, and everywhere else. He misses him. Misses the fluffy head peeking through his door in anticipation of another lesson, misses Snow’s pout whenever Theon had corrected him, misses the seldom, genuine smile when Snow had done it right. 

Theon shivers, hands gripping the armrests of the chair, watching Snow fucking himself slowly on Robb’s cock, watches Robb watch him, remembers the smile Snow had given him right before Theon had been in him, so good and warm and--

“Theon,” Robb says, voice low and commanding. “What do you want to do to Jon?”

Theon stares at him in shock, at Snow stopping his movements all of a sudden, probably in shock too. 

“Come on, Greyjoy,” Robb teases, “I thought you were so fond of talking. Now talk. I want to hear you.”

“Robb…”

The bastard whimpers, rocking his hips in tiny back and forth motions, unable to keep still for longer, yet Robb holds him down, doesn’t let him move up. Theon can’t stand it, Snow’s arse stretched around the thick length, Robb’s blissful expression, Snow’s needy moans. He can’t take it another second. 

“I want to shove him down on his hands and knees,” he says, “I would fuck him good, harder than you’d ever dare, hard enough to rock his whole body, so hard he can feel the shocks from his head to his toes. I would pound his sweet arse so long and good he’d pass out with pleasure, he wouldn’t be able to walk for hours, he wouldn’t want to!”

“Ah…”

Snow’s movements get desperate and still Robb doesn’t let him do what he wants, doesn’t let him go faster and harder, brows gathered now as he holds himself back, too afraid of hurting Snow, too afraid of giving him what he craves. 

“I’d give him what he wants,” Theon continues, stroking his stiff prick, eyes locked on Robb’s. “I’d wrap his hair around my fingers and fuck his throat, I’d suck on his lips, I’d plunder him so good he doesn’t remember his own name, I’d do anything he needs!”

Robb shivers, a groan ripping from his throat as he tenses and spills into Snow, sitting up and kissing him so lovingly Theon has to look away. 

“Robb…”

That quiet whimper again and Theon looks up, the bastard hasn’t moved, still filled with Robb’s cock and Robb’s seed, and still hard. Theon wants to slap Robb. Couldn’t he have seen to that? Snow is trembling, he looks as if he’s aching, and Theon is on his feet before he knows it. 

Theon hesitates as he reaches the bed, but Robb nods and Theon kneels behind Snow, placing his hands on his hips. Snow flinches, but he doesn’t move away, after a moment he leans back against Theon, his eyes closed. 

“I’ll take care of that, Snow,” Theon whispers in his ear, and Snow shivers, moving up so Robb’s cock glides out of him, followed by a dribble of seed. 

Robb sighs in relief, eyes fixed anxiously on Snow now as Theon slides three fingers into him at once, wrapping his other hand around Snow’s prick. Snow cries out, hands scrambling until they claw into Robb’s stomach, as Theon fucks into him with all his might, searching for the right spot.

Snow gasps, jerks, and Theon mercilessly presses into the spot, stripping Snow’s prick fast, he searches for Robb’s gaze before lowering his mouth to suck on the bastard’s neck, finding him looking back with a feverish glance. 

“You look so beautiful, Jon,” Robb mumbles, “I knew you want this, I knew you couldn’t stop thinking of him.”

“I hate him,” Snow snarls, thrusting back against Theon’s fingers, “I hate you, Greyjoy, I hate you… so… aaah!”

Snow’s seed rolls hotly over Theon’s fingers, his own prick jerks in his breeches, another pair ruined, but Theon doesn’t care. He wipes his sticky fingers at Robb’s sheets, sliding off the bed, dry eyes burning as he takes them in, Snow sinking down in Robb’s arms, so far away. 

“I know,” he says, leaving them alone. 

***

He cannot stay away. Whenever Robb invites him to watch he goes, hating them and himself, hating how much it bothers him when Snow tells him, I hate you, Greyjoy, I hate you so much. Yet he still accepts Theon’s hands on him. Sometimes Theon is just handling himself in his chair as he watches Snow riding Robb’s cock. Sometimes he joins in to finish Snow off, or to stroke every inch of naked, pale skin he can get his hands on. Theon never takes his own clothes off. 

This morning Robb had given him the look again, the one Theon now correctly interprets as, I want to live my exhibitionistic fantasies again and show you more of what you can’t have, haha. Whatever Robb could’ve meant that first time, about Theon getting to fuck Snow again, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t ask. He’s not prepared for the answer. 

Theon doesn’t want to go. He’s sick of it, of being on the side, of being a mere tool to satisfy Robb’s need for a watcher, needing someone to flaunt Snow in front of. He’s sick of Snow tolerating him because he wants to please Robb, he’s sick of hearing him spit out Theon’s name, sick of the hatred in the bastard’s voice. Theon still goes, berating himself the whole way. 

Robb’s door is open, just a crack, and Theon pauses as he hears their voices inside. It seems he’s doomed to spy, to lure, to eavesdrop. He holds his breath, leaning against the wall. 

“You should stop saying it like that,” Robb’s voice says. “You’re breaking his heart.”

“He doesn’t have a heart.” Snow, petulant and cross. “He made that quite clear. Besides, it is true. I do hate him.”

Theon’s chest tightens. He’s known that, has heard it a thousand times by now. It still smarts. 

“Another side of the same coin, Jon. Hate, love… It all comes down to the same thing.”

“I love  _ you _ , Robb.”

“Aye, I know. And you know I love you more than anything. But it is possible. To love two people at the same time.”

“I don’t love him.”

Theon closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool stone. He doesn’t love Snow either, no harm done. He could never love another man. He could never love anyone. He’s not meant to, it’s not in his nature. So why are his eyes stinging so much?

“There’s love like the kind we have. The one that has grown over years, the one that makes me feel like I’m wrapped in a warm cloak, a soft glow. The one that has turned into a need to touch, to taste, to melt with you. To protect you. To give you everything you want.”

“Aye,” the bastard whispers, “that’s how I feel when I’m with you.”

Theon swallows a groan. He doesn’t want that. It sounds suffocating. It sounds like hell. 

“There’s another kind,” Robb continues, and Theon strains his ears to hear him. “The kind that makes you want to rip your skin off, the kind that turns your bones to fire and consumes your every thought until you have them in your arms, the kind that makes you want to hurt them and hold them, scream at them and whisper their name.”

Yes, Theon thinks, yes. 

“You crave them when they are not near, you wish them to the seven hells when they are. You want to destroy them only to be able to put them back together, you cannot live with them, and neither can you without them. Passion. Hate. A kind of love.”

The words are ringing in Theon’s head. He knows what Robb is talking about. He knows every single one of those thoughts, has lived with them since the moment he’d first knew Snow was lost to him, Robb’s alone, never Theon’s. Can this be love?

“Now, Jon.” Robb’s voice is soft and low. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t feel anything for Theon.” A chuckle. “I know you, love. You wouldn’t have kept going back to him if there hadn’t been some kind of feeling. You’re not one for this.”

“He is,” Snow answers quietly, and Theon wants to storm in and slap his stupid face. “He wouldn’t even do anything other than… than…”

If he could get him back into his bed he’d kiss Snow everywhere. Everywhere! He’d suck his cock, he’d kiss his fucking arse, anything just to get him back. 

“Give him time. It won’t be easy, Jon. He’s infuriating. He’s impossible. You two will bash your heads together day in day out. He’ll make you happy.”

“I’m happy with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Snow.” Robb, dry, sarcastic. Theon smiles. “I’m here for you just as much as always, and I’ll love you even more when you are happy all around. And,” his voice cheerful now, “there’s always the possibility of the three of us--”

“If he touches you I’ll geld him,” Snow interrupts hotly, “I swear by the Old Gods I will!”

“Always so jealous, love.” A long silence, probably a kiss. “He’ll be here soon. Don’t worry about me. Just know one thing… if he ever really hurts you I’ll geld him myself. With a spoon.”

Still smiling to himself, Theon shakes his head. He turns his back on the door, walking back to the peace of his own rooms. He needs a moment to himself, to come to terms with it. Hurt Snow. He snorts. As if he’d dare to hurt his future lord’s love. That would be exceptionally stupid. And if Theon is one thing, it’s exceptionally smart.

***

Snow comes to him, as Theon knew he would. He opens his door upon the same shy knock he used to wait for before. 

“Where were you?” Snow asks, looking past Theon into the room. “We waited.”

“I’m not your slave,” Theon answers, beckoning Snow in and closing the door,, “nor am I Robb’s. What do you want from me?”

A quick glance out of dark eyes, a sudden flush of red in Snow’s face, and Theon’s hands are in soft, silky hair, dragging him against his mouth with all the pent-up frustration he’s kept to himself. They fight, biting and sucking, Snow groans in Theon’s mouth as they hit the bed. 

“Fuck me,” he snarls, “fuck me until I scream your name so loud they hear it in the capital.”

It is rough. It is overwhelming. Theon thinks he might lose his mind as he sinks into Snow’s tight heat, as Snow buries his teeth in his collarbone, as they roll over until Snow is on top, riding him hard and fast while Theon drags his fingers down Snow’s chest, leaving red marks with his nails, he pushes him off and is over him again in a heartbeat, turning him around and fucking him into the mattress while holding his head up by his hair, hissing expletives and pet names into his ear. 

It seems to last a lifetime, draining Theon’s body of all energy until he finally feels it crashing over him, Snow’s arse milking him of every drop he can give him, until Snow whimpers his name,  _ Theon’s _ name, finally, staining Theon’s bed and ruining his life. 

They cling to each other, both trying to catch their breath, both dizzy with heat, slippery with sweat and oil and seed. 

“I hate you, Greyjoy,” Snow mutters, smiling his beautiful smile. 

“Aye, sweetling, I know.” Theon kisses him, licks into his mouth, tastes again what is now his as well as Robb’s. “I hate you too.”

“What now, Snow?” Theon ask a day or a week later, when his heartbeat has quieted and his thoughts have settled. Snow is wrapped around his side, one leg over Theon’s, fluffy hair tickling Theon’s face. Smelling of wood and something green. “What do we do now?”

“I thought…” Snow interrupts himself, dragging his tongue over Theon’s nipple, making him jerk. “I still have a lot to learn, don’t I? And who could teach me better than you?”

“You’ve come to the right man,” Theon declares in his best condescending tone. “I’m sure I could still teach you a thing or two.”

And maybe Snow can teach him some things as well. Theon pushes him off, sliding down until he’s eye to eye with Snow’s half-hard prick. This cannot be too hard. He’s a Greyjoy after all, and they’re notoriously good in bed. He’ll learn. 

“What about Robb?” Theon asks, pressing small kisses onto Snow’s belly, his thighs, his loins. “You know I’m not averse to see you both, maybe even…”

“If you touch Robb you’re dead,” Snow growls immediately. “He’s  _ mine,  _ Greyjoy and I don’t - oh dear gods…”

Theon smiles around a mouthful of soft, warm flesh as he carefully sucks it into his mouth, feeling it hardening on his tongue. The taste is not bad, musky and clean, and mostly Snow, only more concentrated. It fills out quite a bit, although Snow is not that big Theon soon has reached his limit. In the middle of one of Snow’s long moans he pulls of with a wet plop. 

“And what if Robb touches me? I’m temptation on legs, Snow, the poor boy can’t resist forever. Whatever shall I do then?”

“Lie back and take it like a man,” Snow mutters, hands fumbling for Theon’s hair. “Is that supposed to be you sucking me off, Greyjoy? You’re doing it wrong. Your mouth needs to be on my prick.”

“Aye,” Theon rolls his eyes. “I bow to the Master of Prick-Sucking in this regard.”

“Good,” Snow mumbles, eyes sliding closed. “Then get on with it or you’ll never learn.”

Infuriating, Theon thinks as he gets back to task. Impossible. He couldn’t ask for anything more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been so much fun, being in Theon's head for this and having him act like the major prick he is...
> 
> Before anyone asks, I have no idea where Robb has his wisdom from. Maybe he's got a dark secret, a long-lost passionate love (I mean, he's 18 here, loads of times to turn into a wise old owl, right?)
> 
> Have a great day everyone and please talk to me *lol*
> 
> @cortchuzska - you won a fic, if you want to collect that, drop me a comment or come say hi on tumblr (owlsinathens)

**Author's Note:**

> As always I would absolutely adore to hear from you, your thoughts on the story, on the boys, or just say hello :)


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